


Temporary Secretary

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Series: Playing the Part [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A little bit of snuggly aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, But it's just roleplay, Consensual, Dirty Talk, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, I'm Sorry, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Light BDSM, M/M, Maybe a little bit of power play/imbalance?, PWP, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Smut, Sort Of, Spanking, Stressing:This is Role Play, d/s dynamics, there's literally no plot, this is filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29543586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: “John,” Sherlock said in that peculiar way of his that let John know he was about to broach the topic of something they'd not tried before. Most often something to do with their sex lives.“Yes, love,” John replied, carefully setting his tea cup off to the side.“Do you think that you might like to try something new?”“What did you have in mind?” John asked. He probably needn’t have bothered, he couldn’t ever imagine wanting to say no to the other man but it seemed like what you were supposed to do when negotiating kinks.“How would you feel about taking a bit of disciplinary action against your secretary?”-----------This story belongs to the same Universe as "Doctor, Doctor Give Me the News (I've Got A Bad Case of Loving You)" but can be read as a stand alone.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Playing the Part [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170461
Comments: 28
Kudos: 92





	Temporary Secretary

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, friends. Here we are, fic number two in the Role Playing Series (now titled Playing the Part). I do have a couple of others in the works so we'll see how well this one goes over. 
> 
> First: the title from this song is borrowed from a Paul McCartney song "Temporary Secretary" that used to play in one of my parents' cars when I was a kid. (Let's not dig into the fact that both of these filthy fics have borrowed songs that I heard when I was a child. I don't really want to know what that says about me.)
> 
> Second: the premise for this fic has been a plot bunny for a few years because the original scenario was provided by a "love them or list them" segment on a radio station. In this segment the woman was trying to decide whether she should quit her job or not because her boss had spanked her for doing something wrong (no I'm not making this up) and my crazy brain was like, 'yes, perfect scenario for Sherlock and John'. I didn't want to write an alternative universe, though, so it fits perfectly in the role playing series. I in no way advocate for people to spank their employees or for people to let their bosses spank them (without explicit consent, if you're an adult you do you. No judgement.). 
> 
> The usual disclaimers apply: I don't make a profit from my fics. Please do not repost to other sites without permission (reccing it on Tumblr is totally fine and appreciated). etc.
> 
> Lastly, please don't leave hate on this fic (or on anyone's fics for that matter). If you don't like it just hit the back arrow and find something else to read- If your kink is not my kink, and vice versa, that's okay. :) Thank you!
> 
> Enjoy! <3

It was a stupid case.

John thought it might have been one of the worst cases they’d ever had. Dull and predictable from the very beginning; in fact Sherlock had said right off the bat that it was the administrative assistant. But Lestrade had begged him, sworn up and down it wasn’t her. She’d been a bit clever about it but, as was nearly always the case, Sherlock had been right and it had certainly been her.

Normally after a bust of a case like this, Sherlock would have been sulky or full of vitriol; raging at the world or tuning it out entirely. As it stood, however, he was neither of those things and this honestly had John a bit confused.

Sherlock wasn’t doing any of the things he would normally do after a case like this. He’d cheerfully bid Greg goodbye on their way out of the Met calling over his shoulder, “Well, you can’t win them all.”

Then he’d jogged out, whistling a chipper tune under his breath and leaving John to follow along in his wake.

“Good afternoon!” Sherlock said as he climbed into the cab, “221B Baker St., if you’d be so kind.”

Once they were in the cab, while John was still trying to puzzle out what on earth was going on with Sherlock, the man in question turned to him and asked, “Have you ever had a secretary, John?”

John’s brow furrowed, “Well, the GP’s office has secretaries.”

“Right, but have you ever had a secretary like the one Lestrade just arrested?” Sherlock pressed.

He shook his head, “Can’t say that I have.”

Sherlock was quiet again, gazing contemplatively out the window, apparently lost in thought once more.

John wanted to press him, to figure out just what was going on in that spectacular brain of his, but he knew Sherlock and he knew that at this particular moment asking was probably a fruitless endeavor; Sherlock probably wouldn’t even hear him if he tried to broach the subject.

The cab pulled up in front of their flat and Sherlock paid the cabbie and said thank you before heading inside and up the stairs. When John arrived in the living room, Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, tapping his forefingers together against lips and it was quite clear to John that whatever he was looking at, it wasn’t the space he was in.

He shook his head and went to the kitchen, deciding he may as well make some tea and settle in to wait. But it didn’t take long, once he’d finished making tea for both of them and sat down in his armchair, for Sherlock to cross the room and climb into his as well. “John,” he said in that peculiar way of his that let John know he was about to broach the topic of something they'd not tried before. Most often something to do with their sex lives.

“Yes, love,” John replied, carefully setting his tea cup off to the side.

“Do you think that you might like to try something new?”

“What did you have in mind?” John asked. He probably needn’t have bothered, he couldn’t ever imagine wanting to say no to the other man but it seemed like what you were supposed to do when negotiating kinks.

“How would you feel about taking a bit of disciplinary action against your secretary?”  
\-----------------------------  
Sherlock was looking over the calendar, updating an appointment for later in the week, when Mr. Watson called out, “Sherlock?”

“Yes, sir?” he replied, already rising and moving toward the doorway.

“Come in here for a moment, would you?”

He stepped through and saw Mr. Watson sitting at his desk, looking through some notes that Sherlock had taken for him at the commissioner’s meeting last week. He stood on the other side of the desk, opposite from Mr. Watson, and waited patiently for him to direct his attention toward Sherlock again.

After a moment, the man straightened the tie around his neck before looking up and turning the notebook to show Sherlock. “These are notes you took, are they not?”

“Yes, sir, they are,” Sherlock confirmed, assuming that Mr. Watson might want clarification on something he'd written.

He turned the notebook back toward himself, “Is your handwriting always this appalling?”

Sherlock flushed up to the roots of his hair. He had no idea how to respond, he stood there flabbergasted, mouth opening once and then closing again.

“I asked a question,” Mr. Watson said. His voice was quiet, which Sherlock would have imagined would have made him less intimidating prior to this moment, but the tone sent a shiver up Sherlock’s spine, the command implicit.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Sherlock said, tilting his head down.

“That does not answer my question,” he replied evenly, setting the notebook down on his desk and straightening his sleeves. “Is your handwriting always this appalling, Sherlock? A yes or no would be a good start.”

“No, sir,” he said, shaking his head for emphasis.

“Then why are your notes, from this very important business meeting, all but illegible?” he asked. “I am quite certain that I made it clear to you how important this meeting was.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks heat as he remembered how Mr. Watson had looked in that meeting. He’d smiled and charmed the room, but underneath that charismatic, easy-going exterior Sherlock knew that Mr. Watson would get exactly what he wanted. He always got what he wanted. And that was to say nothing of the suit he’d been wearing that had hugged his body like a glove, the navy making his dark blue eyes pop. Sherlock had spent the entire meeting distracted and half hard. Frankly, it had seemed like an amazing feat that he’d managed to write notes at all.

Mr. Watson cleared his throat and Sherlock snapped back to attention, “I was distracted, sir,” he said.

He raised an eyebrow at him, leaning back in his chair. Mr. Watson rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and stroked his thumb over his bottom lip as he looked at Sherlock as though he was a piece of steak that he was deciding how to cook.

A frizzon of heat raced down Sherlock’s spine and he willed himself to take a deep breath and relax.

“I think this requires disciplinary action.”

“Sir?” Sherlock asked, hardly daring to breathe, his heart racing in anticipation for a reason that Sherlock couldn't quite name.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been called into my office to talk about your substandard work, is it?”

Sherlock looked down at his clasped hands and shook his head. He couldn’t help it, Mr. Watson was so distracting. He got lost in daydreams and didn’t remember to pass along his messages, or he got lost in a particularly delicious fantasy about Mr. Watson bending him over his desk to have his way with him and stopped responding to emails, or he got lost in the ocean blue of his eyes and stopped answering the phone. Or a thousand other different scenarios that not only kept his mind from his work while he was here but drove him to distraction at home as well.

“I think I know exactly what a secretary like you needs,” Mr. Watson said and something in the heat of his gaze said that he knew all about Sherlock’s wildly inappropriate fantasies.

“Sir?” he asked, voice coming out breathy with anticipation.

“Close the door, Sherlock,” he said, rolling back from his desk slightly as he stood, unbuttoning his suit coat and starting to remove it.

Sherlock walked across the floor and closed the door leading up the stairs, trying to breathe, trying to predict what Mr. Watson was about to do. But that was one of the best things about the other man, he was always surprising him. 

“Lock it.”

He turned the lock, heartbeat thundering in his ears.

“Come over here, Sherlock,” Mr. Watson said and Sherlock’s body felt like it had been tapped with a live wire.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned to see that Mr. Watson had rolled his sleeves up so his forearms were exposed. Sherlock was not one for swooning, but something about the corded muscle in his forearms set Sherlock’s veins alight.

Mr. Watson straightened his waistcoat before curling an index finger at Sherlock and beckoning him over.

Willing himself not to trip as he tried to walk, he made his way toward Mr. Watson’s desk. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

“I think a good spanking will start to teach you your lesson,” he said.

Sherlock spluttered and he felt a flush flare out along his neck and chest, his whole body heating at the idea of it, “A spanking?” he managed incredulously.

Mr. Watson nodded, “Yes. I think it’s precisely what a naughty, disobedient secretary like you needs.”

He stood frozen, staring slack jawed at the man in front of him imagining what it would feel like to be spanked, to have the man’s commanding, capable hands on his body.

“You’re trying my patience, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped up from Mr. Watson’s hands to his face.

“You have until the count of three. One,” he started and Sherlock tried to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Two.” Sherlock unstuck his feet and made his way over on wobbly legs. “Good,” Mr. Watson praised and a shudder ran up Sherlock’s spine. “Apparently you are capable of following directions when given the appropriate,” his eyes flicked over Sherlock’s body, _“motivation.”_

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock murmured.

Mr. Watson returned to his seat and patted his thighs, “Over my lap, then,” he instructed.

“But sir-” Sherlock started to protest, surely he wasn’t expected to sprawl across the other man’s lap like a naughty child.

“Sherlock,” the man chided and Sherlock could no sooner have refused his own self.

Feeling gangly and awkward, he sprawled himself across Mr. Watson’s lap. His cheeks burned with mortification and arousal at being so vulnerable.

“You’ll count them, I think,” Mr. Watson said as his left hand started to massage Sherlock’s buttocks, warming them up and preparing him for his spanking. Sherlock managed to bite back a moan but only just.

A moment later the hand that had been caressing him through his trousers disappeared, only to come down with stinging precision in the center of his left buttock. “Huh,” he grunted as his cock twitched hard in his trousers, coming to a full erection, and he had to fight to keep his body from arching back.

“Counting,” Mr. Watson reminded him. “Let’s try again, shall we?”

He smacked his bottom again, his right cheek this time. “One,” Sherlock whimpered.

“Good,” Mr. Watson praised and Sherlock wanted to moan, wanted to beg him to call him good again. A smack fell on his right buttock once more.

“Oh,” Sherlock gasped. “Two.”

“Good.” Another swat to his left cheek.

“Three,” Sherlock moaned.

Mr. Watson smacked the spot at the crease between Sherlock’s left thigh and buttock.

It stung more than the others and he let his head fall forward, “Four,” he managed, hips wiggling and bottom flexing against the sting.

Another smack to the fleshy part of his left buttock, “Your trousers are so tight, Sherlock. I can see your bottom jiggling,” he tsked.

“Five,” Sherlock managed through a wave of embarrassment that his body somehow translated directly into arousal.

“Five more, I think,” he murmured, rubbing his bottom once more to help to turn the stinging into a more generalized heat and tingling.

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock whimpered.

He rubbed his bottom for another long moment and unfortunately it only served to make Sherlock even more aroused. Sherlock spared a thought for the mortification he was sure to feel when he tried to stand up with the erection he was currently sporting.

“Ready?” Mr. Watson asked eventually.

“Yes,” Sherlock all but whined, squirming a bit in Mr. Watson’s lap.

A hard smack in the center of his arse, stinging both cheeks.

Sherlock gasped, “Six, sir.”

“Oh, very good,” Mr. Watson praised. “Showing a bit of respect.” He smacked Sherlock’s right, then left buttock in rapid succession.

“Seven, eight,” he groaned, curling his toes against the bottoms of his shoes to avoid thrusting, sure that with only a little encouragement he could come right in his trousers like a bloody teenager.

Mr. Watson smacked his left cheek, “Nine, sir,” he whimpered.

“Last one,” Mr. Watson said, squeezing Sherlock’s right buttock as he massaged it before whacking him once more.

“Oh,” Sherlock moaned. “Ten, sir.”

He allowed Sherlock to lay there on his lap, panting for a few long moments as Mr. Watson rubbed his arse, before he said, “Alright, up you go.”

Sherlock nodded and stood as gracefully as he was able, attempting to keep his rather obvious bulge in his trousers hidden with his hands.

Mr. Watson didn't seem to be paying attention to him though, he picked up the notebook from his desk and handed it to Sherlock, “I’ll expect these notes transcribed into some semblance of legible writing and on my desk by the end of the day.” He looked up at Sherlock from the paperwork on his desk, “I trust you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock said hurriedly, longing very much to get out of his office and find a loo where he could stroke himself off while recalling the feel of Mr. Watson’s hands on his arse.

“Off you go, then,” he said, nodding to the door.

Sherlock was almost to the door, keeping his notebook covering his erection when Mr. Watson called, “Oh, one more thing about the appointment tomorrow-”

He turned with a wince, “Yes?”

But he saw that Mr. Watson’s eyes had dropped to his crotch when he turned and he knew the other man had caught a glimpse of his distorted trouser front. Whatever Mr. Watson had been about to say was traded for an incredulous, “Are you aroused?”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock managed feebly.

“Well that certainly will not do. I’m trying to break you of your bad habits, not encourage them.” Mr. Watson rubbed his jaw. “I guess we aren’t through. You haven’t learned your lesson yet, apparently.”

“Sir-”

He held up a hand and silenced what Sherlock was about to say. “Come back over here and drop your trousers.”

“But-”

“I will not repeat myself,” he said, voice low and just a little dangerous.

Sherlock shivered and made his way over to the desk once more. When he reached it he bit his lip as he unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, Mr. Watson’s eyes didn’t leave his body as he did so.

“All the way off,” he instructed.

Sherlock bent down and quickly unlaced his shoes, slipping them off before letting his trousers drop and pool around his ankles. His cock twitched hard, pressing against the confines of his pants.

Mr. Watson looked him over, “pants, too.”

He wanted to protest, he really did, but the tone of voice Mr. Watson had used brooked no argument. So he hooked his thumbs into the top of his pants and shoved them down his thighs, he tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to cover his bits to no avail.

Mr. Watson stared at him consideringly for a long moment, trailing his thumb along his lower lip before saying, “Turn around and brace yourself on the desk.”

Sherlock turned and bent at the waist to brace himself for what he feared was about to be a much more painful (and unfortunately painfully arousing) spanking. He had to spread his legs a bit to be at the right height and he was sure that his cock and balls, and even his tiny hole, were shockingly visible to Mr. Watson’s scorching gaze.

“Do you even want to be good, Sherlock?” Mr. Watson mused as he flipped up the hem of Sherlock’s shirt to put his bottom further on display.

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock said. “I want to be so good for you.”

The other man hummed and stood, his right hand rested on Sherlock’s sacrum, keeping him steady as his left hand drew back and smacked his bottom with a resounding crack that made his entire bottom jiggle for Mr. Watson to see. He buried his head in his arms. "I want to believe you, Sherlock."

“Thank you, sir,” he whimpered.

“Good,” Mr. Watson said and he started spanking Sherlock in earnest, sometimes alternating sides, sometimes whacking the same spot over and over until Sherlock was writhing against the desk, sometimes the spanks were hard and other times they were just light taps.

When Sherlock was whimpering and moaning, and his buttocks felt like they were burning, Mr. Watson paused and Sherlock gasped in air, trying to catch his breath.

“Your bottom is a lovely shade of red,” he told him as his hands rubbed in the sting. “Let’s see if you’re still aroused,” he said as he snaked his hand between Sherlock’s legs to grasp his erection.

Sherlock let out a surprised wail as Mr. Watson’s hand came into contact with his erection. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Not as sorry as your bottom is going to be,” Mr. Watson replied. “I think I’ve got a ruler around here somewhere," he mused. "Perhaps something a little harder than my hand will do the trick.”

“Please,” Sherlock cried out, his bottom absolutely could not take being smacked with a ruler, the thought alone made tears well up in his eyes. “Sir, please no.”

Mr. Watson hummed, “What would you suggest?”

“I’ll do anything.”

He heard Mr. Watson settle into his chair behind him, “What do you want Sherlock?”

“Sir?”

“Tell me what you want. What would help you to behave? Do you need an incentive instead of a punishment?”

He bit back a moan at the thought of an incentive, “I want to be good for you.”

“And?”

“May I turn around, sir?”

“Yes,” Mr. Watson said.

He stood, his legs quivering as he turned around and knelt on the floor in front of Mr. Watson. “I would very much like the opportunity for my mouth and my arse to become acquainted with your cock.”

An eyebrow rose as Mr. Watson trailed a finger over his bottom lip contemplatively. “You’ll have to work for it.”

Sherlock nodded eagerly, “Yes.”

"You're sure this is what you want? You're not just trying to curry my favor?" 

"More than anything, sir. I will be so good for you," he promised.

Mr. Watson just stared at him for a long moment, then his tongue flicked out over his bottom lip. “Unzip my trousers,” he instructed.

He moaned and his trembling fingers found the button and fly on Mr. Watson’s trousers and made short work of them.

Mr. Watson reached inside of his pants then and pulled out his still mostly flaccid cock and Sherlock couldn’t contain his whimper at the sight. Even soft his cock was impressive, the length and girth unlike anything Sherlock had ever encountered. He couldn't help the moan that slipped past his lips, he’d known it would be perfect.

“Go ahead,” Mr. Watson said and without waiting for any further instruction Sherlock leaned forward, bracing his hands on Mr. Watson’s strong thighs as he buried his face in his groin. He trailed his nose along the length of his cock before nuzzling the base once more, his tongue flicking out along the base. “You’re an eager little thing, aren’t you?”

Sherlock nodded and mouthed along his shaft, placing wet, sucking kisses all along his length until he reached the head. He opened his mouth and took the tip of his cock inside, moaning at the way he tasted when he flicked his tongue under his foreskin.

“Good,” Mr. Watson said with a sigh, his fingers burying themselves in Sherlock’s hair. “Oh, that’s good.”

He slid his mouth down further, sucking and allowing his saliva to overflow from his mouth to coat Mr. Watson’s cock; his right hand grasped the bottom half of his semi-erect penis and he started to stroke in tandem with the motions of his mouth and tongue.

The feeling of his cock growing harder in his mouth made Sherlock’s cock twitch and precome leak from his tip.

Sherlock moaned and ran his tongue along the thick vein that graced the bottom of the other man’s penis. He slid up and let his tongue rub circles against his frenulum while his hand continued to slowly stroke him to full hardness.

“Very good,” he praised and Sherlock’s eyes drifted shut in pleasure. “Look at me.”

He opened his eyes and looked up, gazing at the other man through his fringe.

“Was this what you needed all this time?” he asked. “Is this why you’ve been so naughty? You’ve been desperate for my cock?”

Sherlock moaned and nodded.

The fingers in his hair gave a gentle tug, “If you want to be good, you ask for what you need going forward, alright?”

He nodded again, moaning at the thought that he could ask for Mr. Watson when he wanted him, that somehow that was allowed now.

“Your mouth was made for this,” he groaned, thrusting shallowly inside of Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock did his best to relax, to open his mouth and his throat, but he couldn’t seem to get more than half of Mr. Watson’s cock in his mouth before he had to pull back again. He continued on like this, sucking and bobbing, licking the slit of his cock and toying with foreskin and Mr. Watson encouraged him, praising him and telling him he was good and Sherlock loved it.

On a particularly well timed suck, he managed to get a little taste of Mr. Watson’s precome on his tongue; he let out a long moan, sucking harder to get a little more of his flavor.

“You like this don’t you?”

Sherlock nodded, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric of Mr. Watson’s trousers still bunched at the top of his thighs.

His fingers carded through Sherlock’s curls and Sherlock moaned around his cock. “You’re so desperate for it. I bet you could hump my leg and it would take you less than a minute to come.”

He groaned at the image, he could imagine frotting against his shin, his cock rubbing against his trousers, balls dragging over the fabric as he thrust, desperately searching for his orgasm.

“You’d make such a mess,” Mr. Watson continued. “You’d get your come all over my trousers and shoes, wouldn’t you?”

Sherlock nodded, his hips jerking, cock seeking some semblance of friction.

“I’d have to make you clean it up,” he said. “Would you like that? Using your tongue to clean up your mess?”

Whimpering around the cock thrusting in and out of his mouth at a leisurely pace, he squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to calm himself lest he come right there, completely untouched, just imagining what could happen.

Mr. Watson gave his hair a little tug, “Up,” he directed.

Sherlock whimpered, sucking his cock a little more forcefully, not quite ready to relinquish his prize.

“Sherlock,” Mr. Watson said, tugging his hair a little more firmly; this had the unintended consequence of making Sherlock’s mouth pop open in pleasure. “I’d like you to bend over the desk again.”

Sherlock swallowed down the fear that he was about to have his sore bottom spanked once more, “But sir, I promise I’ll be good-”

“Not so I can spank you,” Mr. Watson assured him. "You want to be good for me, don't you?"

He nodded and obediently turned around once more, presenting his bottom (which he had no doubt was still a rosy shade of pink) to Mr. Watson once more. Mr. Watson trailed the very tips of his fingers over Sherlock’s buttocks, paying special attention to the crease between his thigh and bottom and the very outside edge of the crease between his buttocks. It was only a matter of minutes of these gentle teasing touches before Sherlock was squirming with need.

“Hold yourself open for me,” Mr. Watson instructed.

Blushing, Sherlock reached back to do just that, parting his buttocks and revealing his puckered entrance to Mr. Watson’s heated gaze.

“Lovely,” Mr. Watson murmured. “I could take a picture of you just like this,” he mused, “Spread and open for me. Desperate. Gorgeous,” he added.

Sherlock squirmed, “Please, sir. Please.”

“Tell me what you need,” Mr. Watson said.

“Your fingers,” Sherlock begged.

The dry pads of his middle and index finger trailed along the crease from his coccyx to his balls then back again before drifting to his hole and trailing circles over his entrance.

“Please,” he begged again.

“Tell me what you need,” Mr. Watson instructed once more.

“I need you inside of me,” he cried out. “Please, sir. I need your fingers to get me wet and open so that I can have your cock.”

“Good,” he praised. “So good for me, telling me what you want.” Mr. Watson’s right hand reached into the drawer and he pulled out a tube of lube. He dribbled lube directly onto Sherlock’s hole, drawing his fingers through the lube to coat them. “Let’s start with one, yes?”

Without waiting for a response he eased his forefinger inside of Sherlock and Sherlock grasped his cheeks harder, ignoring the sting and heat in his buttocks as he drew them further apart, wantonly giving Mr. Watson more room to maneuver.

“So lovely,” Mr. Watson said, “Do you know what I would enjoy, Sherlock?”

“What?” he panted as Mr. Watson started to move his finger in and out of Sherlock’s hole.

“I would enjoy it if you wore a plug to the office.” Sherlock moaned, imagining trying to focus on work when he had a plug shoved up his arse. “And then I could bring you in any time and unplug you and fill you up with my cock instead.”

“Oh,” Sherlock moaned, trying to thrust back on Mr. Watson’s finger and wishing for more.

“I could fill you with my come and plug you back up again in between meetings,” he said.

His fingers squeezed his sore buttocks hard as he fought for control, "Yes," he hissed.

“Would you like that Sherlock?”

“Oh, sir,” he moaned as a second finger started circling his hole. “Yes.”

Mr. Watson’s middle finger pressed inside of Sherlock next, “What else would you like to do, Sherlock?”

“Anything,” Sherlock replied, moaning wantonly and rolling his hips in a bid to get his finger’s deeper. "Anything you wanted to, sir."

“Would you like to sit under my desk and suck me while I’m in a meeting?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, moaning as he imagined taking Mr.Watson into his mouth when they were surrounded by people, watching the control that Mr. Watson must have over his body and his facial expressions if he could orgasm without anyone knowing.

“You’d have to be very quiet. Could you do that, Sherlock?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

Mr. Watson scissored his entrance, spreading Sherlock wider and it was all the more erotic because Sherlock knew he could see exactly what he was doing to Sherlock’s body.

“You’d have to swallow everything, keep my clothes impeccably clean,” he continued as he twisted his fingers and thrust home once more.

“Yes,” he whimpered.

“Would you like me to fuck you up against the window?” he asked. “I could take you from behind while you watched everyone on the street below walk by. Knowing that anyone could see if they just looked up.”

“Oh,” he moaned, hips twitching at the very thought of Mr. Watson’s erection going inside of him while the world watched.

A third finger teased at his entrance and Sherlock moaned.

“Ready to take this one for me?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, sir. Please.”

“So good,” Mr. Watson said as his ring finger worked its way inside of Sherlock as well, spreading him wider and sending heat licking through his veins. “Would you like to come on business trips with me?” he asked. “I could fuck you in the car on the way to galas and meetings. Lay you out on those huge beds in the penthouse suites and devour you.”

“Yes,” he moaned. Mr. Watson rubbed his fingers teasingly over Sherlock’s prostate and Sherlock wailed.

“You could call me while I’m in boring meetings,” he said. “You could wank and tell me all about how you were touching yourself. Tell me exactly how you were bringing yourself pleasure and how much you wished it was me instead.”

“Please,” Sherlock moaned as the other man’s fingers sped up, thrusting and twisting inside of Sherlock’s body. “Nothing feels as good as you do.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Watson confirmed, “That’s exactly what you’d tell me.”

He nodded, “I’d tell you how badly I wanted your cock, how I wished that I was opening myself up so that you could slide inside. And no matter how well I prepared myself, I know that it would still be such a stretch to fit you inside of me.”

“That’s so good, Sherlock,” he praised. “You’re a natural.” His pinky trailed along Sherlock’s entrance, “One more,” he murmured, “Do you think you can take it?”

“Yes,” he said fervently, anything to get them to the point that Mr. Watson could fuck him.

Mr. Watson pressed his pinky in next to his other fingers and Sherlock spread his legs further, moaning as his body stretched to accommodate him. “That's beautiful, Sherlock,” Mr. Watson encouraged. "Just look at you, you lovely little thing."

He nodded, “It feels so good to be full,” Sherlock moaned. “So good to have you inside of me. I’ve wanted it so badly.”

“I can tell,” Mr. Watson murmured. “Have you imagined it, Sherlock?”

He nodded again.

“Have you played it out in your mind? Me stretching you, filling you, claiming you,” he asked as he spread his fingers inside of Sherlock.

He shuddered, “So many times.”

“Have you touched yourself while you were thinking about me?” Mr. Watson asked, his fingers twisting as he thrust home, repeatedly trailing over Sherlock's prostate. “Have you given yourself pleasure, imagining that it was me?”

“Yes,” he cried. “Mr. Watson, please!” he begged.

“Are you ready, Sherlock?”

He nodded vigorously.

“I’d like you to sit on my cock, I’d like you to fuck yourself to completion, and I’d like you to orgasm without touching your cock. Do you think you can do that?”

“I’d like to try, sir,” he replied.

“Good,” Mr. Watson praised as he pulled his fingers out of Sherlock’s arse. He pried Sherlock’s finger’s off of his arse and said, “Let’s get you out of your shirt and socks first, alright?”

Sherlock shrugged out of his shirt and bent over and quickly pulled off his socks so that he was standing in front of Mr. Watson completely bare.

“Do a turn,” he instructed, his hand slowly stroking his erection that was peeking out of his pants. “Let me see you.”

Obediently, Sherlock turned around allowing Mr. Watson to look his fill at his body.

“You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

He blushed and looked down at his feet, he knew that some people found him attractive objectively but people didn’t often say so.

“Come here,” Mr. Watson said, patting his lap.

Sherlock turned around and sat on his lap. He pressed his naked back against Mr.Watson clothed front, whimpering at the feeling of Mr. Watson’s clothes on his bare skin and his erection rubbing against the crack of his arse.

“You like that?” he asked, leaning forward slightly to nip at Sherlock’s earlobe. He trailed his fingers teasingly along the inside of Sherlock’s thighs and Sherlock spread his legs further in what he hoped was an obvious invitation for more.

He nodded, adding a breathy “yes” for good measure.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” the other man said as his fingers skated across Sherlock’s ribs and up to his nipples. He pinched them and rolled them between his thumb and forefinger and Sherlock squirmed in his lap. “How do you feel about nipple clamps?”

He moaned and wiggled a bit more in Mr. Watson’s lap.

“Imagine you in nipple clamps,” he mused, “with a lovely plug filling you and keeping you stretched open. Maybe I’d have you laid out across the bed, handcuffed to the headboard. Would you like that? Would you like to come home with me?”

“Yes,” he breathed and it took everything in him not to tug on his cock at the thought.

“One step at a time, though, hmm?” he said as he reached between their bodies and pressed the head of his erection against Sherlock’s hole. He rubbed it teasingly along his entrance, circling it slowly and Sherlock could feel it smearing more lube against his already wet hole. “Ready?”

He nodded.

“Turn around and face me.”

It took a bit of maneuvering but Sherlock managed it, kneeling carefully with his legs on either side of Mr. Watson.

“Good,” Mr. Watson praised, stroking a curl back off Sherlock’s face. “You really do follow directions exceptionally well when it suits you.” He lined up the head of his erection with Sherlock’s entrance. “Take your time,” he said.

Sherlock nodded and started to sink down. The pressure and stretch set his groin on fire and for one terrifying moment, he thought that he was going to come all over Mr. Watson before he’d even managed to get a part of his cock inside of him.

But the head of the other man’s cock popped inside and Sherlock moaned, tipping his head back and clenching Mr. Watson’s shoulders in his fists.

“You’re so tight,” Mr. Watson groaned, stroking his hands along Sherlock’s back. “You feel so good.”

He whimpered and started to slowly rise and fall on the other man’s cock, taking him deeper and deeper on each pass. Sherlock couldn’t have said how long it took for him to finally be seated completely, but he was panting and drenched in sweat by the time he’d managed it. After pausing to breathe for a moment, he opened his eyes to take in the look on Mr. Watson’s face; a combination of pride and pleasure, and Sherlock wanted to see that expression directed at him for the rest of his life.

“Well done,” Mr. Watson praised. “You can start bouncing when you’re ready.”

He moaned, so far beyond the ability to feel embarrassed by the broken whimpers leaving his mouth as he started to impale himself on Mr. Watson’s fantastic cock. “You’re so big,” he moaned. “You feel so good, stretching me so wide, and touching me where no one else ever has.”

Mr. Watson groaned and Sherlock found that extremely gratifying. His fingers gripped Sherlock’s hips, helping to support him, “And where no one else ever will,” he added. “You are all mine, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yes,” he whimpered, thrusting harder.

Then with a groan, as though he simply couldn’t help himself anymore, Mr. Watson wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s back and the other under his body as he stood and laid Sherlock out on the desk, sweeping the paper onto the floor, all without breaking their rhythm.

The display of strength sent heat curling through Sherlock’s groin, spiraling to his limbs, and sizzling up his spine. “Please,” Sherlock begged as wrapped his legs around the other man’s waist, moaning and urging him to move faster.

“You like that?” Mr. Watson asked. “Do you like the way it feels to have me pounding into you?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, his fingers digging into Mr. Watson’s shoulders, rumpling the fabric of his shirt.

“This is every filthy fantasy you’ve had since you started here, isn’t it?” he asked, bending down to suck a bruise into the pale, delicate column of Sherlock’s neck.

“Yes,” he moaned.

The other man's hands grasped Sherlock's hips, angling his body as he slammed back into him. His cock dragged across Sherlock's prostate and Sherlock wailed, his cock leaking copious amounts of precome on his stomach between them. 

"That's it," Mr. Watson encouraged. "I want to hear you, Sherlock."

He cried out again as Mr. Watson jabbed his prostate with his cock, "Sir, there. Right there!" he gasped. "Please!"

Mr. Watson picked up the pace, sucking and biting at Sherlock’s neck and collarbone, and Sherlock wrapped arms and legs tighter around him, meeting him thrust for thrust as his body coiled tighter and tighter. “Are you going to come for me?”

He nodded, reaching out and trying to grasp the orgasm that was tingling in the tips of his fingers and along the base of his spine.

Mr. Watson tipped his head down and claimed his mouth in a passionate clash of tongues and teeth and that was all it took for Sherlock to spin over the edge. Tearing his mouth from Mr. Watson's to let out a sobbing scream as pleasure so acute it felt like pain overtook every molecule of his being.

“So good,” Mr. Watson groaned, rocking in and out of Sherlock and prolonging his orgasm for long moments before he was pushing into Sherlock's body as deeply as he could and dropping over the edge as well. “So good,” he murmured into Sherlock’s neck. “So good for me,” and something about his voice and posture had changed and Sherlock knew they were back to being them. "You're so good to me, Sherlock."

Sherlock held on tighter as John rocked against his body a few more times. “I’ve got you,” Sherlock whispered in John’s hair.

John groaned, “I love you,” he murmured back. “And it is really, really hard not to say it,” he added with a little chuckle. He pulled back far enough that he could look Sherlock in the face, “I think you’re a lot better at role play than me.” He brushed one of the sweaty curls sticking to Sherlock's forehead back and kissed his temple.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You were very convincing,” Sherlock replied, turning his head to press a kiss to John’s jaw. “Very stern. Especially in the beginning.”

“I didn’t hurt you too badly, did I?” he asked, his hands moving from Sherlock's hips to his bottom.

“No,” Sherlock murmured.

“You seemed pretty scared of that ruler,” John said.

Sherlock huffed, “Can you imagine the bruises I would have if you took a ruler to my arse? My skin is very delicate.”

“Hence me checking now to make sure I didn’t hurt you,” John replied, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s neck before starting to untangle himself. “You’re taking this suit to the cleaner, by the way,” John said, indicating the mess of bodily fluids covering the suit he was wearing.

Sherlock hummed, he wouldn’t be and they both knew it.

“Come on,” John said, reaching out for Sherlock’s hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up and get some cream rubbed on your poor bum.”

With a groan, Sherlock stood up, wincing when his bottom pressed into the hard wood. “That is a good idea.”

“I have those from time to time,” John replied wryly, leading him to the bathroom where he washed Sherlock’s chest and stomach, then his groin. He pecked Sherlock’s lips and stroked his cheek.

Sherlock couldn't help but grin at John in response; he loved John like this, he was always so gentle and soft with him after role playing.

“Go lay down on your stomach on the bed," he said, nodding toward the room. "I’m just going to get out of these filthy clothes and then I’ll take a look at you."

“Yes, doctor,” Sherlock teased.

John swatted him lightly on the bum on his way out and it made him jump as tingling heat sizzled through his groin.

“Too soon to have another go, I’m afraid,” Sherlock called blithely over his shoulder.

“Menace,” John grumbled, but his tone was warm and fond and Sherlock soaked it up like a cat in sunlight.

He sprawled face down on the bed, groaning as his body stretched out luxuriously.

“You really are beautiful,” John said softly when he made his way over.

Sherlock smiled, turning his head to look at the other man. “Thank you.”

John smiled back. “This might hurt a little bit,” he warned, holding up the cream.

“Promises, promises,” Sherlock quipped.

The doctor rolled his eyes as he squeezed some cream on his hand and warmed it before spreading it over Sherlock’s right cheek.

He hissed, squirming a little against the pain flicking through his nerve endings.

“Easy,” John murmured, gentling his touch a bit. “Sorry, love.”

“S’alright,” he said. “Still feels weirdly good.”

John groaned as he got a little more cream to apply to Sherlock’s left buttock, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

When John finished Sherlock sat up a bit, making room for John to lay down so he could collapse on top of him.

John hummed, wrapping Sherlock in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“John?” Sherlock asked after a moment.

“Mmm?”

Sherlock trailed his fingers over John’s forearm, “You seemed to enjoy me calling you sir."

John lips pressed to Sherlock's forehead, "Yes."

"Do you think-"

"Shh," John murmured sleepily. "I'm not thinking at all right now and you shouldn't be either. I just gave you a fantastic orgasm."

"That you did," Sherlock affirmed with a little chuckle.

"Good. Ask me about your military kink later." 

Sherlock had every intention to. "I love you," he said happily.

"I love you, too."

And the last thought Sherlock had before he dropped off into sleep was that he couldn't quite understand how he'd gotten so lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you'd like to read more of our boys role playing. :) Hope you enjoyed.


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